It arises, I think, from an over developed sense of humour. Mr. A fortnight passed, then a month. A young man with shiny frock coat and very high collar, advanced towards her languidly. “We will do Paris like the tourists, and thank God here comes dinner. “I have not left this apartment myself. Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. "What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on.
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